


Rings

by Fyre



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Developing Relationship, First Time, Frottage, Nipple Piercings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:20:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27400348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: Every so often, Aziraphale really manages to surprise Crowley.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 28
Kudos: 266





	Rings

Sometimes, they kissed now.

It was a hell of a thing, mouths sliding against each other, warm and wet. Licking. Sometimes sloppy, because they were both new at it, but always a pleasure. Just being able to close the gap, so close, sharing sips of breath, drinking one another in.

Aziraphale had taken to it like a duck to water. Whole flock of the buggers, in fact.

He was the one who’d made little pleased sounds when Crowley dared to move and next thing Crowley knew, fingers were curled in his hair and he was pinned back against the arm of the couch and they didn’t leave the bookshop for another hour.

So, yeah.

That was a thing that they did.

When they met, when they parted, sometimes when they were bored and drunk and sprawled on the couch. Once, while he was driving, though Aziraphale told him off for that one, especially when they’d ended up parked halfway up a flight of steps.

It was also why he made one hell of an unexpected discovery.

They’d been at it – Frenching, snogging, tonsil-hockey, winching, whatever – and for once, he ended up sprawled over Aziraphale. Not entirely new, but first time Crowley had had his jacket off and his shirt was thin enough to notice very… well… noticeable bumps rubbing against his chest.

“Angel,” he murmured lazily. “Y’seem a bit excited.”

“Hm?” Aziraphale’s fingertip teased the curve of his ear.

Crowley absolutely definitely didn’t blush, raising the topic. “Your nips are poking me. Are they meant to be that big?”

“Oh!” Aziraphale laughed softly. “No, dear. Those would be my rings.”

Crowley was a simple demon with simple needs, all of them centred around a warm and soft angel with a soft kissable mouth. Nowhere in that mental image had he _ever_ factored into the equation the concept of _nipple rings_.

“FNGH??” He catapulted back, trying to collate this new information.

“Is something the matter?”

“The matter?” Crowley croaked. “You. Nipple rings. But you… you’ve been wearing the same sodding outfit for centuries! Now, you get piercings??”

The angel raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Now? I’ve had them for years.”

“Since _when_?”

Aziraphale seemed more amused than offended. “1882, I think,” he said, folding his hands over his belly. “Or maybe 1883?” He shook his head. “Thereabouts anyway.”

“1882…” Crowley rocked back against the other arm of the couch. “You…” Stuff wasn’t adding up. Stuff really definitely wasn’t adding up. “All the time?” He waggled a finger towards Aziraphale’s chest. “You’ve had them all this time?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Crowley rocketed off the couch. They had raised the Antichrist together and Aziraphale had nipple rings. They had faced down Satan and Aziraphale had _nipple rings_. They had–

“I didn’t have them when I went upstairs!” he said hotly. “I didn’t!”

The bastarding angel’s lips twitched. “Did you check?”

Crowley made a sound not unlike a kettle whistling. HE HAD GONE TO SODDING HEAVEN WEARING AZIRAPHALE’S BODY AND NIPPLE RINGS?!?!?

Aziraphale hid his mouth behind his fingers.

“ANGEL!”

“I don’t know what you’re making such a fuss about,” Aziraphale said primly. “It was very common.”

“Yeah and you didn’t tell me!”

“Well, you were hardly talking to me, were you?”

Valid point. Unfair, but valid.

“And,” Aziraphale continued, “I hardly had an occasion to… bring them up as it were. I got rather used to them. Hardly remembered they were there half the time.”

Crowley pressed his hand over his eyes. Mental gymnastics were going on between the current trend for kinky piercings and the angel in front of him in his bloody Victorian suit with the velvet worn by constant smoothing.

“Is it just the nipples?” he asked, a tad hysterically. “Anything else I should know about? A giant tattoo? Some kind of Prince Albert?”

“Oh, really, dear,” Aziraphale tsked. “Everyone knows the Prince Albert was only a rumour and if he _did_ have one, I assume it was to dissuade his wife for five minutes. The poor fellow was exhausted.”

Crowley’s face felt so hot he was fairly sure he was about to sear his hand. He cracked a gap between two fingers. “You,” he declared, “are a bastard.”

“And you’re a drama queen.” The angel patted the couch. “Sit down and stop flouncing about.”

Grumbling, Crowley folded back down onto the couch. “Can’t believe you’ve got piercings,” he mumbled.

Aziraphale’s cheeks flushed a little and he chewed his lip, then blurted out, “Would you like to see them?”

And there was that high-pitched kettle-whistle again. Accompanied by nodding, because Satan’s sake, some things had to be seen to be believed.

It wasn’t as if they hadn’t seen each other starkers at various points in history. Course they had. History being what it was with baths and pools and sometimes just swimming on a hot day. You got used to it, then you forgot you’d been used to it.

The forgetting was the problem and Crowley’s mouth went bone dry as Aziraphale tugged his bowtie undone, lowering his eyes demurely as he drew it out from under his collar. He rolled it neatly around his fingers and leaned sideways to set it on the coffee table, then lowered his hands to his waistcoat, twisting one button undone at a time.

Crowley remembered the 60s in Soho, wall to wall flashy lights and tits and arse everywhere, and right now, he was getting the slowest and yet simultaneously most erotic striptease he’d ever seen in his life.

“Don’t laugh,” Aziraphale warned as he reached for the buttons of his shirt.

Normally, he’d have teased or laughed or poked fun anyway, but now, he couldn’t move, could barely breath, watching as one by one, the perfect cream buttons twisted undone, baring rosy flesh and a soft mat of pale curls.

When the buttons were open to his navel, Aziraphale sat up a little against the arm of the sofa and – like a magician drawing aside a curtain – opened his shirt, baring his plush chest and his small, rose-pink nipples. A tiny gold hoop pierced through each of them, both of them decorated with dainty golden wings, which was… so very, very him.

And…

Oh sweet Satan’s tits…

“Angel,” he asked, hoarse, “what’s the chain for?”

The chain. A fine curve of gold links, strung from one ring to the other.

Now _that_ made Aziraphale blush, deep red, across his face.

“Sometimes, I like to…” He hooked a thumb over the chain and – very gently – tugged. The rings pulled at his nipples, and Crowley would’ve had to have been blind to miss the way the angel’s breath hitched.

He swayed forward, staring. “Doesn’t hurt?”

Aziraphale shook his head. “I can’t describe the sensation. Sometimes it…” He flamed even brighter red. “It makes me want to make an effort.”

“Erogenous zones,” Crowley said with all the sage knowledge of someone who spent several years presenting as female in a house full of gossiping house staff. He eyed the golden chain. “Can I…?”

The angel nodded, dropping his hand to finger at the worn velvet of his waistcoat.

Cautiously, Crowley curled a finger over the fine chain, adding only the slightest pressure. He raised his eyes to watch Aziraphale and slowly, slowly pressed down, which meant he saw the way the angel’s eyes darkened, saw the way his lips parted, heard his breath hiss between his teeth.

“Okay?”

Aziraphale nodded, kneading at his waistcoat. “Mm.”

Crowley eased the pressure a little, taking a chance to look at them, at Aziraphale’s exposed chest properly. He was as soft as Crowley remembered, all dips and valleys, padded and comfortable and before he realised what he was doing, he reached out and stroked a thumb across one of the shiny piercings.

Turned out Aziraphale could make the deranged kettle noise as well.

Crowley wrenched his hand back. “Painful?”

Aziraphale gave him a heated look. “No. Something… else.” He grasped the front of Crowley’s shirt. “Kiss me again.”

He fell into him at once, straddling Aziraphale’s thighs to kneel over him, pinning him back against the arm of the couch.

Turned out rubbing through two layers of Aziraphale’s clothes was _very_ different from rubbing directly against his chest. The heat of him. The softness. The scratch of the chain and rings catching on his shirt and making Aziraphale moan happily into his mouth. All a lot and too much and he had to drop his mouth to hide his face – overwhelmed and shaky and more than a bit turned on.

“Angel,” he breathed into Aziraphale’s throat. “Efforts. You up for them?” Teeth closed on his ear and nipped, making the question less hypothetical and more corporeal. “Fuck!”

Broad hands on his hips pressed him forwards and he felt the matching swell of Aziraphale’s erection through his trousers.

“Hngh,” he informed Aziraphale, fumbling down to yank at his belt buckle.

“Let me,” Aziraphale’s voice was a low rumble, hungry and wanting and Hell in a hatbasket, Crowley felt like he was about to explode. He clung onto the back of Aziraphale’s neck with one hand, other hand on the angel’s shoulder, both of them looking down between them as Aziraphale undid him. And very nearly undid him again when he breathed, “oh, lovely.”

Crowley made a helpless sound, dropping his head to Aziraphale’s shoulder.

“May I– my own?”

It took effort to lift his head, meet the angel’s eyes and nod, but Crowley managed. And, shirt still tucked in but gaping lewdly open, the angel reached between them again and unfastened his trousers, giving a soft, low sigh of pleasure as the straining material spread open around his erection. Shorter than Crowley’s but thicker and just as solid.

Crowley swallowed several times in rapid succession, staring at it, at them. His fingers hooked into Aziraphale’s shoulder and oh, he wanted to move, touch, _something_ , but brain was on dial-up and the file required was too big.

Aziraphale’s tongue rasped along his lower lip. “If I may…”

His broad, warm hand closed around both of the erections, pressing them together.

“NGH!” Crowley grunted, hand skittering on the angel’s shoulder and down. Caught the chain. Tugged. Made Aziraphale’s hand squeeze in surprise, made him gasp. And mortification smashed into him along with his orgasm. “Fuck!”

Aziraphale made a pleased sound. “Wonderful,” he purred, then his other hand was in Crowley’s hair, pulling his mouth back down.

Around them, his hand started moving, smearing them with Crowley’s spend, sending off fresh fireworks behind the demon’s eyes as he wriggled and moaned helplessly, tugging at the chain. That made Aziraphale clutch his hip, grind up against him harder, both of them slick and messy.

“Angel,” he panted, kneading at the back of Aziraphale’s neck. “Fuck… angel…”

“Pull,” Aziraphale gasped out against his lips, his hand tightening on Crowley’s hip.

Hand shaking on the chain, Crowley tugged hard and Aziraphale made a sound Crowley knew he’d never forget, sharp and pure and filthy, as the angel spilled all over both of them. His hand kept moving with squelching wet noises, obscene and ridiculous and completely smearing both of their penises – penii? – cocks with it.

Crowley sagged, breathing hard, forearm still braced on Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Shit…”

“Hm?” Aziraphale continue to gently stroke their slick cocks, apparently uncaring of the fact they were returning to their limp sausage state.

“Sorry. Fast. Too–”

“Not at all.” Mossy-green eyes met his. “We…” He laughed, ducking his head. “We have rather been dancing around it for a long while.” His smile turned soft, fond. “After such a long build up, it’s to be expected.”

Crowley made a face at him. “Yeah, but coming halfway out of our trousers. Hardly the most romantic start, is it?”

Aziraphale entire face crinkled up with delight. “Oh you soft thing!” He slipped his arm around Crowley’s waist, pulling him flush against him. “You wanted to _woo_ me?”

“Have been, for several hundred years,” Crowley grumbled, blushing. “Thanks for noticing.”

Aziraphale kissed his cheek softly, then his lips again. “I’ll look forward to it,” he murmured as Crowley’s grumbles dissolved into more kissing.

“Y’r sticky,” Crowley broke in between kisses.

“Your fault,” Aziraphale retorted.

“Not.” The demon crooked his fingers, giving the chain a firm pull.

“Oh!” Aziraphale squeaked. “Don’t yank my chain, dear!”

Of all the ridiculous sounds Crowley had heard that day, nothing quite compared to the sound of an angel and demon bursting out laughing while kissing, wet and noisy and full of happiness.

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact - in the latter part of the 19th century, it was very popular for upper class folk to get their nipples pierced, partly for the Aesthetic, but also because it was - heh - titillating, sexually speaking. Given where Aziraphale as socialising at the time, I don't doubt he came across them.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Rings](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27441172) by [Djapchan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Djapchan/pseuds/Djapchan)




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